The Hekamon (15 page)

If the men were leaving by that route, where could they
be going? Decarius had no knowledge of the underground mine workings,
other than being aware of their existence. He would need to try and
figure it out, and quickly. Feeling exposed in his current position,
he moved away from the armory, back across the small yard and into
the rough ground beyond.

Decarius's mind raced with a mental map of his
surroundings. If the men re-emerged in a another building, then he
would need to get back among the workshops, but which one? There must
about forty of them, there was no way that he could go around
Serfacre checking on every building. He would have to find another
way and realized that if he was going to have any chance of finding
them, he would need to get into the mine, too.

Then a thought occurred to
him.

When Lord Jephson had ordered the moat drained, he'd
made the fact known to Coralai, declaring it to be an act of
goodwill. One that cemented the peace treaty. It was a reduction of
their defensive posture, or so the man had said.

The Coralainians had later found out, that with the moat empty of water, the mining of iron, limestone and coal had become
easier. With weapon making a prime use for those materials. Not such
an act of goodwill after all.

Still, if the mines could be reached from the Old Moat
Road, then the opposite would also be true. It seemed like a good
place to start and he moved that way. As he thought about it more, he
realized something else. If the men were heading that way, then
it would make for a useful short cut, especially if they
were going—

He looked across the dried out moat at the fort.

Moving to the edge of the rough ground, Decarius reached
the top of the bank and looked into the deep, wide gully below. It
was very wide, two hundred yards, easily.

Trees and bushes
grew all along the length and up the embankments either side. Long
grass, beginning to die back now the season had turned, covered the
whole area. There were narrow paths, crisscrossing from one side of
the road to the other, and a stream, which emerged from a limestone
cavern to the south and ran down the middle. He could see the paths
themselves were formed by nothing more than the movement of people,
trampling down and wearing out the grass to reveal the compacted
earth beneath.

Decarius moved further down the bank and looked along
it, certain that there must be an entrance of some kind.
Then he saw something, thirty yards away to his right, a wooden
structure built into the bank. Might that be it? Was that the adit, the
entrance to the mine?

If it was, then it wasn't the only one. There was at
least one more adit, and it was right below where he was standing. Decarius
knew this because at that very moment, two figures suddenly stepped
out from the bankside and into the daylight. Seeing them emerge,
Decarius quickly knelt down into the long grass before remained
perfectly still. He then watched as the merchant and the old man,
moved onto the path, thirty feet below him.

"So are you carrying that all the way to the fort?"
He heard the old man say.

At this moment, Decarius had to lay flat to conceal
himself completely. Tansley's eyes were sweeping the bankside. The
effect was to muffle some of the conversation but he'd heard enough
already. Raising himself up once more, Decarius saw Tansley hand the
bag to his companion, who thanked for carrying it that far.

"Take care Mr. Croneygee." The merchant said,
his voice barely audible, as it was carried away by the breeze, before
walking away, along the bank and in the direction of the Demedelei
Road.

Decarius watched him go, until the merchant was lost among the
trees and bushes that lined the bank. With Tansley out of sight,
Decarius turned his attention to the old man.

Leaving the cold, damp and darkness of the mine, Enyon
Croneygee stepped into the bright sunshine. The armorer hadn't
ventured down the mine since he'd taken Galvyn on as his apprentice a
few months earlier. Not that he minded coming this route, not for the
brief walk to the Old Moat Road, anyway. The actual mining of coal?
Thankfully, those days were behind him.

As he emerged from the mine,
he turned to Tansley.

"So are you carrying that all the way to the fort?"

"Would this be far enough?" Tansley asked,
looking around.

"I thought as much," Croneygee laughed.

The
merchant tried to avoid the fort's authorities whenever possible, and
walking up to the east gate was the last thing he'd want to
do. He might be asked in, he might asked a lot of things. Things he
wouldn't have an answer for, or at least, none that would get him out
again quickly. "Well, thank you for carrying it this far. I'll
send Galvyn up later in the week."

"Take care, Mr. Croneygee." Tansley replied,
starting along the bank and giving a wave.

Croneygee watched him go, before turning his attention to
the open expanse of what was left of the old moat in front of him.
He'd taken up Tansley's suggestion at making use of this short cut,
not only because it was quicker, but because he had been instrumental
in its existence, and was actually quite proud of it. As Lord
Jephson's quartermaster, he'd talked his lordship into draining the
moat to improve the access to the mines that ran under the hills
here.

Jephson had found the logic of his argument persuasive.
A better supply of coal, iron and limestone meant more steel, and of
higher quality, too. This in turn ensured better equipped guards.
Guards who would provide a superior defense than a passive barrier.
The moat was just a tame obstruction. One that only provided
protection to the east flank anyway.

The fort had been built in a
location so as to make use of the landscape. Nature had been a kind
but imperfect architect for the military purposes they'd had in mind.
It was more of a lake than moat.

Standing on the bank overlooking now dry lake bed,
Croneygee watched as Tansley walked away, smiling to himself at his
companion's furtive and agitated demeanor. The sight of the fort had
that effect on some people. Its looming presence, the huge gray
expanse of stone sitting atop a sharp, jagged, rocky outcrop. Some
people thought it stood menacingly over the town of Demedelei. He on
the other hand, found it reassuring.

Putting his bag over one shoulder, he made his way down
the bank, following a well worn path. One made by boys carrying the
burdensome sacks of coal from the mines to the hearths and kitchens
of the fort. Their morning routines etched into earth, much like an
animal trail, weaving through the long yellowing grass.

The grass of the Old Moat Road grew strongly here, so
did the trees and bushes that had sprouted up in the rich soil of the
drained lake bed. Once it had dried out, the plants and trees wasted
no time in taking root. Croneygee found it an idyllic area to stroll
through. There were birds here, flowers too, and the stream that had
once fed the moat now gently irrigated the oasis. The melodic sounds
of the stream and birdsong was a welcome relief from the discordant
screeching and hammering of the workshops.

As much has he prided himself in the intricacies of his
wares, and the skillfully made products of his fellow craftsmen, the
process of making them could be destructive. He found this fact
especially apparent when he was surrounded by the greenery and
colorful flowers that abounded here throughout the year. From the
poppies and daffodils in spring, to the purple heather still
providing color in autumn. The contrast to Serfacre, with its
perpetual coating of black coal dust, from which no surface was
spared, was striking.

At the point the stream ran deep and narrow, a makeshift
wooden walkway had been constructed. Just a few planks of wood nailed
together and laid across so as to make for an easier passage.

Here the paths converged, and beyond the stream, they
split once more. The right fork lead to the east gate of the fort,
the left toward the stone-arched bridge, over which ran the Demedelei
Road. Enyon took the well worn path, the one that was put to far
greater use, and took the right path.

It wasn't just nature that had adapted to the draining
of the moat. No sooner had it stopped being used as a part of the
fort's defenses than it had been re-purposed for resupplying the
fort. The keep, and the range of outbuildings, demanded a constant and
seemingly insatiable supply of coal during the winter months. The
paths that crossed the dried out moat helped make for faster and more
convenient deliveries.

Croneygee's own delivery would enter the fort by the
same route but it would not be taken to the higher levels. It would
not be used for the purpose of providing comfort and sustenance to
the people who lived there. Instead, it would remain in the deeper,
colder rooms of the prison. His sharp and finely crafted implements
would help defend Demedelei in much the same way as the moat had once
done. As a deterrence against seditious plotters and defense careless
invaders.

Reaching the other side, Croneygee left the wide, flat
gully and began to climb the other bank. Here, on the southeast
facing slope, the trees and bushes grew densely, and the steepening
path weaved among them.

Ahead of him was the rock motte on which the fort was
constructed. The motte was not as solid as it appeared, filled as it
was, with tunnels and caverns, a few of which reached to the
rock-face. The largest of them used to be flooded along with the
moat.

With one barrier gone it needed to be replaced with another,
and a large wooden doorway had been inserted, that doorway had become
the east gate.

The important but potentially vulnerable entrance was
kept locked and bolted. Except when being used for taking deliveries
of coal and other supplies. Croneygee could see it was shut now,
since he was just a few yards down the path from it, but a few bangs
on the door would soon bring the guards on duty there.

The last few yards of his journey took him into the
shadow of the east tower. And as he entered the shadow, the armorer felt
a chill. Stepping into the shade could have explained it, but some
instinctive urge told him to look back anyway. It was enough. Enough
to parry the first blow, but not the second.

He'd been hit.

Dropping
his bag, Croneygee tried to parry again, but the man lunged at him and
knocked him back. A thought overwhelmed him.
He
was being attacked.

"GUA…." was has much as he could get
out, before a hand was clamped on his mouth. He tried to push away
but almost immediately he was on the ground. Then the full weight of
the man was on him. One hand across his mouth, a knee pinning an arm
to the ground, the other on his chest, making breathing almost
impossible. His one potentially free arm was held firmly at the
wrist.

As he struggled he kicked out at thin air, trying a
dislodge the attacker but the man was strong and heavy. He felt his
own strength diminish by the second, unable to muster any leverage.
The man's face was close to his, but only his eyes were visible above
a blood red mask. Croneygee looked into the deep soulless eyes, they
stared back, but betrayed no emotion. Was the man trying to kill him?

Suddenly, he heard a man shout, loudly and distinctly.

"Who's there?" The voice came form above and
Croneygee knew who it belonged to. It was the voice of guard named
Groucutt.

At the sound, the masked man's grip on him tightened,
but his grip on himself seemed to weaken. A flicker of fear crossed
his face, his eyes darting upwards and a sharp intake of breath.
Tense and distracted the man's focus shifted.

Unable
to breathe, and knowing help was nearby, Croneygee realized this
might be his only chance. Whoever was attacking him was strong. Did
the man know he was suffocating him? Was murder the intention? He had
just second before he passed out. His lungs were burning and his
heartbeat erratic. He
had
to get that guards
attention.

His right hand closed around a rock lying on the ground
next to him but that arm was pinned by his assailants left knee. He
tried a feint, throwing his left arm out and forcing the man to shift
his weight and as he did, he rolled to his left. The hand holding the
rock became free, and in an instant, he brought it up and struck the
masked man across the side of the head.

His prone position meant he wasn't able to generate much
force, nor was he able to hold onto the rock, which fell from his
grasp an onto his chest. Searching for it again with his right hand,
his left hand suddenly became free. He threw a left punch but it was
weak, a right hook landed but not much better, he was nearly
unconscious.

If only he could prise the mans hand from his mouth, one
shout for help would do it. He was in the shadow of the fort, with
one guard alerted, three or four more could be here in seconds. He
gripped the man's suffocating hand. It needed just and inch of
movement, that would be enough. It was then Croneygee saw why his
left hand had become free.

The man on top of him had seen the rock fall and had
reached for it himself. He'd accepted the inevitable hit he would
receive, knowing that he could follow it up with one much more
decisive. Raising the rock high like a hammer, the masked man brought
it crashing down, through his attempted to shield himself,
and onto his head.

Galvyn had cleared the workbench and was busy unpicking
the worn thread of the wrist guards. He didn't normally have any
trouble focusing on the job in front of him, but this time he found
the silver necklace that Tansley had given him to be something of a
distraction. Placing the leather bracers to one side, he took the
necklace out of his pocket and started studying it in more detail.